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If there was anything that she was expecting, it wasn’t this.
The Italian sand creeped its way into her dress shoes, hot like coals on her dark skin. Anthy’s hand reached for her glasses, only to remember that she had discarded them oh so long ago. She smiled. She didn’t need them to see the sea in front of her, or the woman with short, pink hair who stood in it, white sundress soaked and vision clouded. This was no delusion of the noble castle, no rose induced fantasy. At last, reality.
“Utena.” Her voice was gentle, but not soft. The woman turned, eyes as clear as the sea that surrounded her at the calves, and for a moment, her thin eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Then, the realization. No princes, no duels, just her.
“Himemiya.” Utena’s voice was strong, yet soft. She walked from the water with no sense of urgency, as if she was walking within a dream. Anthy laughed, extending her arms to the barefoot woman. “Himemiya!” Utena whispered, her eyes widening slightly.
“No hug for your old friend?” Anthy chided chastely until Utena wrapped her arms around her. Utena had a good 20 centimeters on her and she rested her chin on Anthy’s head, the vibrations of her chuckles resounding on Anthy’s skin. Even on this sandy beach, Anthy could smell the rose in the crook of Utena’s neck, on her wrists, on the scars that laced her body that were visible through the sundress. The scent of her skin was not synthetic, but genuine. Anthy recalled how she used to view those plastic roses as overrated, but how couldn't she? Utena was a real rose, roots curled in on Anthy like veins. She had no time for fake roses. “I missed you.”
“And I missed you.”
-
Anthy watched as Utena poured the lichen colored tea into their respective teacups, setting honey and lemon on the tray. She had taken off her coat, leaving her shoes and bag at the entrance of Utena’s seaside home. The sand stayed on Anthy’s feet, but it cluttered around the small house’s floor nonetheless. She sat down on a small couch and was soon accompanied by Utena, who brought with her a chair for herself. The taller woman sat down in parallel to Anthy, sighing gently as she set the tea tray on the table.
“You know, Anthy, I never really understood how you got the tea to be so perfect. I always end up burning the herbs, or I don’t add enough water, or there’s too much sugar… Honestly,” Utena laughed out, tucking her light pink hair behind her ear. It had split ends and evidence of messy scissors all over it; It was incredibly boyish, short like trimmed tree tops, and yet it was entirely Utena.
“Did you cut your hair yourself?” Anthy asked while she stirred the honey and lemon into her green tea, almost lovingly. The swirls of green brought Anthy back to a feeling that something was undeniably wrong, but she ignored it. Utena’s blue eyes looked at Anthy in surprise at the question, and her slim fingers brought her own tea cup to her lips.
“Oh! Um, yeah, I did. Hairdressers here are super expensive, you know? I hope it doesn’t look too shabby! I’m learning how to take care of it,” She responded, running a hand through her hair as she sipped her tea. “It doesn’t look bad, does it?”
“No, I like it. It suits you.” There was an uncomfortable silence between them, settling like dust on a countertop. For ten years, Anthy had searched for her. Everyone had forgotten, but oh, not her. How could she forget the beats of revolution in her veins, the gospel of change on her lips, the noise of the masses in her step?
And yet, she sat here, just drenching her chair and the floor in seawater since she had forgotten to change out of her soaked sundress, drinking burnt green tea. Even then, she was adoringly the same. She was a poster child of the revolution and a simple girl at the same time, and Anthy remembered why she had searched for her for so long. She had searched for her because of the way that she tapped her fingers on her tea cup, one two three four five, the way that her short eyelashes did a horrible job of guarding her naive heart, the curve of her collarbone, her mess of a haircut, her slim hands that only knew how to fight. And oh, how she found it.
Silence between them never lasted.
“Utena… I believe we both know why I’m here.” Anthy’s hand reached for Utena’s and gently rested on it, her eyes turning to Utena for a response. Utena looked away. Anthy’s fingers gently tapped on Utena’s, tracing old scars and calluses. She was long gone.
“I do,” she gently squeezed Anthy’s hand, closing her eyes, “I just didn’t know it’d be today. If I had known, I’d look better, the tea wouldn’t be burnt, I would have...tidied this place up, I don’t know, Himemiya-”
“Akio is dead,” Anthy whispered, voice so quiet that it was nearly inaudible. Utena looked away again. She swallowed her bouquet of feelings, and Anthy did not. “He sent you that letter too, didn’t he?” The end of the world was not kind. Even with cursive writings and rose scented letters, things never changed, did they? Torn scriptures on the floor, similar to sand in between the cracks of the wooden floor planks. Scars from a million swords might heal, but the end of the world's resting hands never let go of their skin.
“Yes,” Utena’s voice was small, so unlike her. It was diminutive, lost and incomplete. “Himemiya…” She spoke her name like a prayer, as if Anthy would disappear if the syllables of her name weren't on Utena's tongue. Her eyes finally turned to Anthy. With the end of the world came a new beginning, and it flowed out of her eyes. Droplets of it stained their hands, planting a seed in hopes of healing.
“I know, Utena. I know.”
-
“Live with me.”
“You’re crazy.”
Primroses, orchids, carnations, china asters.
“In a good way. Move in with me.”
They folded in with one another, no words needing to be spoken. Anthy’s long hair fell into Utena’s own. Light from the window and the sound of the sea crashing against the sand outside were just background notes compared the thin mattress coated in sand and torn letters on the floor.
“Let me think about it.”
Acacias, mallows, balsams, oxeye daisies.
“You already know the answer to that.”
Foreheads against one another. Their breathing was in rhythm, traces of flowers in the old bedsheets. No confessions were needed, no coffins left to be opened. Teacups were left empty on the tray on a table just a few meters away, traces of honey and lemon just a part of the amalgamation of the night.
“What if the city can’t handle me?”
Crocuses, daffodils, elderflowers, forget-me-nots.
“All of Italy can’t handle you. Come with me.”
Chipped nail polish and floral perfume, sighs of patience. This was it, cruel reality, and yet, it was so sweet. They had earned it. Princes and storybook fantasies were all in the past, just wisps of yesterday. It was going to shine in sunlight again tomorrow in Italy, in America, in Japan, in schools that were forever gone, and in upside down castles.
“Anthy…”
Jasmines, tulips, rainflowers, roses-
Intertwined fingers and wordless kisses lingered and Anthy got her answer.